


The Road Back to You

by JLKnox



Series: How Brio could actually work... [5]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: 3x04 Paper scene, F/M, Makeup Sex, Oral Sex, Validation/Approval, Workplace Sex, kissing Dean is gross, mutually beneficial, partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLKnox/pseuds/JLKnox
Summary: Rio's gotten the info about the "buncha bitches" who are movin funny money, and he wants Beth to show him how it's done.===“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”Her face all wide-eyes and straight-lipped the way she do when she lies. I reach into my back pocket for the proof.“Oh no?” Placin the ten on the table, her eyes on it tell me everythin but I gotta see how this plays. “Cuz yer friend says you do.”I repeat my request.Ain’t many people I give the chance to make me ask twice.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: How Brio could actually work... [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657150
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	The Road Back to You

**Author's Note:**

> Written before I watched 3x05. If you imagined all kinds of things going through Rio's head while Beth made money... so did I.

“We were so good with him gone.”

Dean’s expression is full of regret and I can feel myself mirroring it. But my regret isn’t for the fact that Rio’s back in our lives – it’s for whatever I might have done to give Dean this impression. I’ve been treading water in this family, with this new arrangement, biding my time and still trying to fix all his bullshit mistakes. He’s deluded if he thinks that’s better than when he was pretending to work and I was able to support us. 

He closes his eyes and moves closer and I feel the panic rising, my eyes go wide and I want to pull away. But standing here, ready to leave for work, I’m Beth – not Boss Bitch, not Elizabeth – and it’s my job to let him kiss me. Bile rises in my throat as he fumbles it; two decades and he still can’t kiss. I consider the idea that it’s just because I’m bored or just because Dean is a philandering fuck-up, but as he sucks my top lip into his mouth, I want to throw up in it. I just don’t like the way he kisses me. I don’t think I ever have. My hand goes to his wrist because every inch of me wants to push him away. But I lean into it because those two decades are a foundation of comfort that I can’t ignore. As he pulls away and walks away, I can’t help but let my face fall.

And while I’m at work, I can’t help but remember the kisses Rio gave me in the back of my van when he first saw me again – or any of the other months of mind-blowing, nerve-shattering, skin-tingling kisses and sex we shared before he disappeared. My shift passes with a continuous dampness between my legs and more than once, I turn around to help a customer and imagine it’s him come to check up on me.

When I hear his voice say the now-familiar, “Heyyy now…” I’m certain it’s just my overactive fantasy life, so I’m fairly shocked to actually see him behind me.

S’been a few days since she blew up my life an gave me hope of savin hers within the span a five minutes at my bar. But it’s only been a few hours since I found out she ain’t ackshully gave up the game. Here I thought she’d take care a my crew while I was gone, but looks like she focused only on her own gals. Piss me offa lil, but at the same time, respect.

She look at me like I come t’collect already, like imma kill her if she ain’t got it all together. But the air between us a lil easier, the tension nosso high. Still, she move to put a table tween us as I walk closer. I dinnint think I’d get a repeat of the bar breakroom as soon as I walk in, but I thought maybe the scared-rabbit routine be done.

“I don’t have it all right now, ok?” I’m a little spooked – he’s been on my mind so much today, it’s hard not to think that I conjured him. Closing shift is me solo tonight; Lucy hasn’t had a project to keep her late for a while. He reassures me that he isn’t here for my life-saving payment yet, and a breath I didn’t know I was holding flows out of my body. Instinctively, I lean a little more toward him, a tiny curl pulling my lips up before I can stop it.

His posture is easy, and I actually trust the smile on his face as he asks about custom printing.

Shit.

I know… I know that if I actually trusted him, I would have told him my plan for paying him back while we were at the bar. Maybe I could have even worked something out about running the cleaning through him for a cut of the profit, the reverse of how we did it last year when I owed him.

But one: Three Bourbon and a Tequila Beth who is deep in her feels from a dredged-up trauma is not the best negotiator.

And two: since he’s gotten back, he’s made it clear he doesn’t trust me, either.

I only have one choice when he asks to see how it’s done.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her face all wide-eyes and straight-lipped the way she do when she lies. I reach into my back pocket for the proof.

“Oh no?” Placin the ten on the table, her eyes on it tell me everythin but I gotta see how this plays. “Cuz yer friend says you do.”

I repeat my request.

Ain’t many people I give the chance to make me ask twice.

Cain’t believe how fuckin soft she got me. I shift my weight on my leg an try to adjust without touchin myself. Emotionally soft; physically anythin but.

She may be back to bein Beth, but she got a brass pair as she deny it again – dis time wit that edge in her voice when she spect me to back down.

“Well he’s got it wrong.”

I reach behind me again, this time for some persuasion. I am fuckin soft cuz no one – absolutely no one – make me ask three times. So I don ask, I tell.

“Show me.”

The click is hollow again, just like it was in the van. The slide jingles too much when no bullet is being chambered. Even without his kid in me, he isn’t going to shoot me.

Still, he brought the gun out, in an open place of business. And he doesn’t actually have to shoot to hurt me with the gun. It takes until now, seeing the basic gray piece in his hand, to realize that the gold one with the crown is gone. Turner probably got rid of it sometime before he died. I could offer him the twin he gave me, still in the storage unit, but a little like Dean, I just like knowing it’s there.

A souvenir. Proof we were something once.

Just like the gun on the table is proof we might still be something, but that he still means business.

Moving slowly, with determination, as if it is my choice or just the regular time, I bolt the door, flip over the sign, and flick off everything except the safety lights. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time.

She move like she ain’t got a care in the world; like the gun mean nothin to her. I knew she knew it empty. Still, she listenin and takin me back to a mostly-darkened workroom behind the salesfloor. My eyes need t’adjust as she turns on a few lights an I pause in the open doorway.

There’s a stool nearby, so I settle in, gun in hand, an make the necessary adjustments since I ain’t gotten any softer for watchin her parade that big, gorgeous ass around the entire store. As she put on her apron, I can’t help but stare at her amazing chicotas, tryin not to remember every time I was lucky enough to have em in my mouth.

When she look at me, my eyes feel on the verge of spillin; she still look afraid, an I’m the reason. I wanna calm her, hold her, reassure her – like I couldn do in the bar. That I can’t imagine doin without her, that I still ain’t over the idea that she won’t be havin my kid.

But she turn away an get somethin from the shelf, an I’m hypnotized by that toma once more. Turnin back round, I look back up at her face as she pour the solution, and she starin at me like she ain’t seen me in years. I guess we ain’t had many quiet moments since I got back – none that weren’t loaded with life-or-death. I drink her in for as long as she pours.

I haveta put the gun down; fold my hands in my lap. Adjustin again won’t be enough to hide the way watchin her make me feel. Every single thing she do, she focus on with this intensity that surprises me. It’s quiet, determined. I spose whether she bakin cupcakes for the PTA or makin money, she always demand perfection from herself. She glance up every once in a while, but mostly she in the zone.

When she put the pulp through the screen, though, I have a shaky moment. My weight shifts forward an my tongue licks my lips. I’m a lil glad my moms made me watch all them old movies from the 90s because a dead guy an clay got nothin on what I wanna do to her as she scrape white mush into a thin layer.

Her chest raise slowly when she breathe in before speakin.

“Pulp’s gotta dry now.”

My eyes fixed on my favorite place, I hardly hear myself say, “Okay.”

“Takes a while,” she say.

Can’t help my face movin into half a grin when I reply, “I got time.”

Even after the night at the bar, I can’t predict what he’s going to do and when. I think we helped each other, and we left it on a positive note, but he’s been really different since he came back. _Scary_ different.

I could feel him staring at me every second of the first part of the process: he’s been obvious enough that he could fly a flag from that pole in his pants. But this is me on his turf: making money, washing it. What if he’s trying to get me to let my guard down so he can load that gun? Or worse?

He stands up slowly – just as slowly as I’ve been moving this whole time – and it makes my heart race. I back up, trying to put distance between us, and I bump up against the metal drawers behind me.

He stares at my face… no, at the hair at the side of my face. I lower my eyes, waiting for the gesture that will put everything back in place. But instead of moving my hair with his pinky, he leans over and puts his hands behind my neck. I hear a clink as the D rings from my apron are loosened.

Looking up, I see his half-smile turn into a full one while he pulls the neckstrap free and brings the halves to my front. He drags his thumbs down after them, to where they attach to the apron’s top, and he pulls that down, too.

“Been thinkin, Elizabeth…” he doesn’t meet my eyes because he’s mesmerized by my tits. “Bout that night at the bar.”

His thumbs graze my nipples gently but quickly, moving them away and pausing…I guess waiting for me to protest or consent. My throat makes a small quiet noise, but even I’m not sure if it means “stop” or “more.” He moves his hands down to my sides, lightly resting around my ribs.

“Been thinkin you tole me I was helpin you – makin you feel less empty – but you knew you was helpin me, too.”

He does look up now, face serious. Questioning.

I nod, slightly and quickly.

“It made me feel…powerful. Worthy.” He looks down and back up. “Like bein able to help you made me more of a man than bein a father would.”

I bite my bottom lip. I’d hoped it would work, but I hadn’t known for sure.

“It wasn’t _just_ for you,” I say, before I think it through.

“Yeahhhh…I think I get that.” He chews his lips, something I just noticed that night. Maybe once before – when I put the money by the bed. “S’what I been thinkin bout. Cuz I think it _did_ help you… but you knew that me helpin you would make me feel better.”

I shrug and let my hands reach for his waistband, resting where his hips should be if he wasn’t such a pencil. “It’s how men work, most times.” I think, except the selfish ones. Except Dean.

“I think is’more than that – I think it’s how people work.” One of his hands moves down to my ass and the other creeps under my apron. “I think you been doin for you this whole time…but I think you know it’d help me, too.”

My mouth falls open, shocked. I honestly hadn’t considered it, that what I’d been doing could be useful to him. That helping myself could be mutually beneficial.

He moves in and kisses my surprise away; I move toward him immediately. Finally, we’re in the same place, together: headspace, physical space, business space. We meet in that space and claim it, gasping and desperate to keep it. I kiss him as hard – harder – as he kisses me, and I let out the moans that say how much I’ve missed him. How much I’ve hated being afraid of him.

How much better he kisses than my fucking impossible-to-teach, barfable husband. How much more intensely, and quickly, I react to Rio doing exactly the things that he knows make me feel good.

So I do something I know makes him feel good: I kiss over to his ear, sucking in his earlobe and licking down his jaw. He throws his head back and groans as he blindly gropes my chest. His fingers find their way inside my shirt, squeezing my breasts and twisting my nipples as my tongue swirls around a sensitive spot on his neck.

Fuck, she gonna make me shoot my load without even touching mi verga…an I wanna suck those titties first. I lean forward, lips following my hands as I lift each breast to my mouth, sucking in each nipple and licking underneath, burying my face in them. Months a dreamin of this, stroking to it, rememberin it, an nothing compares to her soft skin on my cheek. I slow for a second, resting my head as my hands lift up her apron an unzip her bizness casual slacks.

Slidin down those pants an her don’t-call-them-panties, I squeeze that juicy culo an lift it up onto the metal cabinet behind her. Her squeal tell me it’s cold, so I turn around, grab another apron, lift her up again an set the cloth underneath her.

Her cheeks flushed, she whisper a thank you.

“Nah, ma – I owe you one.”

She snorts. I swear I ain’t never thought I’d think that was attractive, but on her it works. “Just one? I might argue with your scorekeeping.”

I pull her to the edge of the cabinet, grabbin her knees an openin wide.

“You might not wanna be keepin score… I ain't sure you're ahead. But you did for me at the bar an I been achin to getchu back.” She close her eyes an lean back.

“Please do,” she say, an spread her knees even wider. I’m on my knees an under that apron before she can finish takin her next breath. The smell hit me, an I’m surrounded by it, kept close by the protective clothing. I swear I can remember it exactly, but the feel of her warm thighs an her damp skin ain’t nothin I can substitute. She already soaked the cloth under her, an I know she been missin me the same.

After a deep, appreciative breath, I’m on her an in her – lickin up an suckin up everythin I can reach. The taste a her is almost as good as the taste of us, but I ain’t gonna push my luck tonight. I sing her praises with my mouth, tongue an voice. Growlin while kissin her lips, I dig my nose against her clit. I press my tongue as far down as I can, puttin pressure on her perineum, makin her knees twitch. She cross her ankles behind my neck an I lick all the way up to her nub; suck on it like it was a nipple. I talk with my mouth full, sayin her full name against her. I pull away for a second to suck my own finger and she whines, leanin back, almost fallin off the shelves to grind her pussy against me.

With the dry hand, I bear more of her weight, and the wet finger slides into her easily. Her clit is red an throbbin, an almost immediately, she’s clenchin around me as I curl my finger up an into her to rub it from behind. The rest of my hand massages around her lips an my mouth an tongue focus on that button.

She buckin, thrustin, out a sync an with no control. It’s hard to keep up, but I love every second ovvit. I’m glad this ain’t a strip mall, because if there was neighbors, they’d hear every swear word in the book between wordless screamin. My face hurt, my nose hurt, my neck hurt an I ain’t sure how much longer I can keep holdin her off the floor.

One more thrust from her an she off the counter totally. Her right leg go straight down an her left thrown over my shoulder. She pressin down – I’m surprised my neck ain’t snapped – an the only thing in my world is her snatch. I push, I thrust, I suck, I devour, I moan with her weight balanced all on me an she press down one last time an throw her shoulders against the cabinet.

Suddenly, my whole face, neck an hand covered in her. I slurp up everythin I can an start laughin. Goddamn she feel good. The sound of her pantin get quieter an she clumsy when she smack my head, dig her heel into my back. Finally, she pull the apron up, offa my head an say, “You gotta …stop…please…”

Using that apron like a napkin, my face an neck get dry…er. I pull my hand free an lick my soaked an wrinkled fingers, then wipe em on the dry parts of the other apron what was under her.

“Can you stand?” I ask, pattin her leg still over my shoulder? “Cuz my neck dyin.” I slide her knee off me an she support herself on the cabinet. I move across the room an grab the stool. Can’t help but starin as she tuck her sore an red tetas inside that big ol bra – looks like she was givin em a good twist while I was feastin. She pull her pants up an arrange herself, catchin her breath after she sit back down.

I grab the extra apron from her, an discreetly rub it against the wet spot on my jeans – glad for the long button-down I got on. Tossin it in, shakin my head, I wipe my face again an say, “I hope you helpin me at the bar …felt as good as me helpin you right now did.” I do a lunge or two, flexin my knees an stretchin my calves after so long keelin. “Cuz I got a feelin we can keep helpin each other.” My stretches have taken me back to her, so I stand her up off the stool “An I want it to be good for us both.”

Her smile small as I lean in, an the kiss is quiet an slow. Her hand reach up to the back a my neck, an her nails drag up through the stubble on my head. A shiver pass down through my spine, an I hold her close, pressin her up against my aching hard cock. She gasp an exhale, shaking her head an laughin a lil.

“I think the pulp is probably dry.” Pushin herself back from me, she go to the frame to check. Grabbin the stool, I swing it back over to the worktable, an fold my hands again, just like I was sittin before we took that break.

Few minutes later, she’s pullin a sheet a paper outta the press, feedin it into the old-timey printer. An after that, she’s holdin a sheet a bills – lookin anxious for my approval.

“What do you think?”

I think you could knock me down right now with what Boss Bitch pulled off. But if I don’t come in the next few minutes, there gonna be some painful hours ahead.

“Think I need you alive,” is all I say before I toss the sheet an walk out the door to my car with thankfully tinted windows.


End file.
